


you say we may die (but first we will live)

by jadeddiva



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU - A Song of Ice and Fire, Crossover, Gen, OUAT in Westeros!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-13 16:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1232770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadeddiva/pseuds/jadeddiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Stark has not left the walls of Winterfell.  All she knows is the hills and fields of the North, and now her father wishes to take her south.  The kitchenmaids have been whispering that northern girls who go south do not return – or at least her aunt did not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the little swan

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a Tumblr prompt that was all about CS in Westeros. I did not intend for it to become this...epic. I have charts now.

**one: the little swan**

 “Are you sure I must go?” Emma asks her mother one final time, but Lady Stark shakes her head sadly in reply.

“My darling Emma,” her mother says, brushing a kiss against her forehead, “we will not be parted forever.  Things are not as they once were in Kings Landing – I assure you that we will see each other again.”

Lady Snow smiled shakily at her eldest, and so Emma did her best to smile as well – if only to reassure her mother that she is not as frightened as she really is.

Emma Stark has not left the walls of Winterfell, has not ventured south even to her mother’s home of Riverrun, seat of her grandfather Lord Leopold Tully.  All she knows is the hills and fields of the North, and now her father wishes to take her south.  The kitchenmaids have been whispering that northern girls who go south do not return – or at least her aunt did not, but that story is not one told in polite situations.  It is a story whispered of in backrooms, in the coldest nights of winter, the story of the winter rose and her dragon prince.

It did not end well, but then again, none of Emma’s fairy stories end well.  Her mother frets when the bards sing the sad tales, and yet Emma does not understand why she worries so: the world is harsh and unfair and will be, regardless if they used pretty words or cruel ones.

Her mother would wonder where Emma got these ideas, as Lady Snow is kind and gentle, but Emma sees the suffering of the petitioners that come asking for aid. She knows the horrors wrecked by war, and understands only too well what the seven kingdoms must overcome.  That is why King Victerys Targaryen wishes her father as Hand of the King.  Lord David Stark is a noble man, honor-bound, and the summons seeks to heal old wounds.

Her brother August stands beside her mount.  He hands her the reins when she approaches, and Emma takes a moment to embrace him.  He is not her real brother, merely an adopted ward of her mother and father but raised like their true son and Emma knows he will watch over her mother and little James, who scampers around the courtyard like his father and sister are only going to White Harbor and not Kings Landing itself.

“You will be fine, little swan,” August tells her, helping her onto her horse.  Emma nods, wishing that she felt the same.  Kings Landing is far from Winterfell, and she has overheard her mother say that they will be gone for many years.  Emma is five-and-ten, and knows that she may be used for marriage brokering and alliances – that is why the King wishes Lord Stark to bring his daughter, or so her lady maids say when they think she cannot hear.  The idea takes root inside of her and grows like a tree, spreading its branches inside her skin.

(She tries to tell this to her mother, after the raven arrived from the capital, but her mother refused to listen to her pessimism, tried to paint the summons in broad streaks of happiness, and so Emma listened and said nothing.)

“Write me many letters,” August makes her promise.  “Tell me all that you can about Kings Landing and I will read them to little James.”

Emma smiles in spite of her sadness, and agrees, for the thought of telling little James about the places she travels may very well be her sole comfort.  She would have him learn more about the beauty of the world outside Winterfell – the beauty her mother speaks of – instead of the horror.

Her father mounts his horse beside her, and with a few final goodbyes they set off.   Once they leave the courtyard, he looks over at his daughter with a smile.

“This will be an adventure, little swan,” he promises.

Emma can only hope.

…

Emma was born during the harshness of war, when the mad king lashed out at the kingdoms for the death of his firstborn son at the hands of the vicious and angry Greyjoys, ruled by Queen Cora of the Iron Isles.  Though the Isles themselves are but small, Queen Cora must have known that it was the push that would be needed to set the wheels in motion (or, so Emma’s mother says.  She has hatred for Queen Cora that Emma supposes must do with the death of her own mother during an Ironborn raid in the Riverlands, but that is only what Emma’s father supposes).

It was a combined force, led by the Lannisters of Casterly Rock and the other wardens and their noble houses, that overthrew the mad king and put his son, Victerys, on the throne.  Victerys never intended to be king, and was but Emma’s own age when he assumed the crown, so for years Lord Lannister whispered his dark words into the king’s ears as the Hand of the King.    Those who supported Victerys father were put to the death, and those who supposed the Lannister’s interests were promoted into positions of esteem.  It earned Lord Lannister the title ‘the Dark One.’

The rumor in Kings Landing, and all the seven kingdoms, was that it was love that saved the king.  The arrival of Lady Ruby of House Tyrell, the second wealthiest house in all of the seven kingdoms, changed everything.  Lady Snow swore that Ruby’s beauty and kindness won the king’s heart.  With his marriage to Lady Ruby, he dismissed the Dark One.  Rumor has it, though, that the Dark One cursed the king, which is why he was unable to settle on a suitable Hand since.  And yet, Lord David Stark thus became the latest in a line of Hands that would be tasked with carrying out the King’s will throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

Lord David Stark was eager and hopeful, but Lady Snow was not, and in spite of this Emma accompanied her father south, to Kings Landing, in the hopes that maybe her father could right the wrongs of so many years.

…

“What is the king like?” Emma asks her father one day as they break their fast.  They are nearly at the Twins, and this will be Emma’s first time outside of the North.  Her palms are sweaty and even though her father assures her that the south will be beautiful, she is nervous.

“I don’t know – I met the man once, at a tourney soon after he became king,” her father says.  He takes a bite of bread.

“So why do you chose to answer his summons?” Emma asks, tearing her bread in two.

Her father shrugs.  “Why does any man do any thing? For the greater good, I supposed.  If the king thinks that my presence as his hand will be helpful for the kingdoms, it is my duty as his sworn servant to obey.”

Emma studies her food carefully before asking her next question.  “They want to marry me off to someone, don’t they?”

Her father almost spits out his drink.  “Emma – where do you get these notions?” he asks.

“That’s what the maids said,” Emma says, feeling embarrassed. 

“The king and queen have no children, Emma, and the only child your age is the queen’s youngest brother, Killian,” here her father snorts, “and I can promise you, Emma, Killian Tyrell is the last man I’ll let you marry.”

Emma has heard rumors of the youngest Tyrell son’s penchant for mischief.  His older brother, Liam, captained the king’s fleet in Blackwater Bay and there were rumors that the youngest Tyrell was also a sailor.  There were also rumors he once snuck onto a ship and sailed to the Summer Isles, returning months later with gold and jewels and a wife.  There were rumors of his behavior in Oldtown with the whores, and that his penance was being sent to Kings Landing by his grandmother, the Queen of Thorns, to be kept under his sister’s watchful eye.

Emma may not believe in happy endings of fairy stories, but when she marries she wishes it to be for love like her parents or, if she is not so lucky, that her husband would be a fine man who would treat her with respect and not succumb to the temptations of whores and wine.  The prospect of Killian Tyrell as a husband causes her to wrinkle her nose in disgust (his older brother, however…)

Her father laughs.  “You have impectable taste, little swan,” he tells her, reaching out to ruffle her hair.  “Do not worry too much about what will be in Kings Landing. Let us see when we get here.”

Emma nods her head, and reaches for her cup.  “I will try,” she says with a small smile.


	2. the rose with steel thorns

**two: the rose with steel thorns**

Killian swings his sword angrily at his sparring instructor.  It’s not that he has any problem with learning how to fight – on the contrary, he’d much rather to this than learn the history of the Seven Kingdoms – but today is the day that Liam returns and he wants nothing more than to race to the dock and watch for his brother.  But, Ruby has asked him to attend to his daily routine (he will do anything and everything for his sister) and so he is here, working on his skills. 

He blocks easily, swings, blocks another.  Sword fighting can become repetitive, but this Braavosi instructor treats it like dancing – constant movement, constant anticipation, meticulous footwork.  Victerys laughed the first time Killian called it ‘dancing lessons’ but Liam merely clapped him on the shoulder with pride.

“Anything that makes you learn a new skill makes you a better man,” he told Killian. 

Granny said nothing.  She was too old for Killian’s foolishness, and until he could be knighted or wedded, he was little use to her (though she did dote on him, the youngest of them all).

“That is all for the day,” Master Syrio calls out, and Killian wipes the sweat off his brow.  He makes sure to carefully return his sword to its proper place, for he respects Syrio Forel enough that he will not cause the man added trouble or work. He does that enough with everything else these days as it is.

Killian sprints through the Red Keep, eager to get outside of the city and head to the docks, but it is Jefferhys, Master of Whispers, that catches him en route.

“Your sister is looking for you, young lord,” he says with a bow.   Killian is no prince and so he bristles at the courtesy, but the members of Victerys council are chosen for their particular talents, and Jefferhys is to flatter and to listen, to pluck secrets from the mouths of those who speak them and to acquire what is needed.  Killian needs little and hides nothing, so he does not much converse with the man.

“And what need does the queen have of me?” Killian asks, slowing his steps.

“It appears that the new Hand of the King is arriving today and she wishes your presence in the throne room,” Jefferhys tells him.  “His caravan has been spotted north of the city, so perhaps…”he trails off, driving home the point that Killian is dirty and sweaty and in no condition to be seen at a royal audience.

It irks Killian to be called out in such a way, but it is Ruby who wants him there, and he loves her as much as Liam so he will obey.   He nods, turns on his heels, and heads to his chambers.

As he washes up he looks out the window, straining to see the caravan in the distance but there is only dust.  Summer is ending, and soon there will be fall and winter.  Winter is coming – those are the Stark words, are they not?

The newest Hand of the King was plucked from the North – the Warden of the region, Lord David of House Stark.  Killian had never met anyone from the North save for traders or petitioners, or the messenger or two from Winterfell, home of the Starks.  He had heard that northerners were rough men with long beards and rough manners, not brought up as he was in the Reach (or so Granny would have him believe.  Killian knows that his own upbringing has been marked by equal roughness of his own making smoothed over by his family’s immense wealth).   

The new Hand has brought his daughter with him; Killian wonders if northern women have beards, like the men at the taverns in Oldtown joked.

He rushes down to the throne room, eager to please his sister by being punctual.  Though Ruby is ten years older than his sixteen, they are nonetheless close and so when he presses a kiss to her cheek in greeting, she smiles and brushes her fingers against his forehead, moving the wet fringe aside to place a kiss on his brow.

Killian bows before the king, who is a good man despite his choice of advisors, and goes to stand beside Ruby on the right of the king.  The seat to the left is open, and that is where the King’s Hand will sit. Beside that stands Rumpelstiltskin, Master of Coin.  He sees Lord Jefferhys lingering along the edges of the hall, gathering whispers.  He does not like Rumpelstiltskin, and neither does Killian.  There is something about the man that bothers him, and it goes beyond the slippery, simpering nature of the man.  When he has tried to tell Ruby, she has told him only that every man has their uses, regardless of their nature.  The man’s ability to make gold coin appear out of thin air (does he spin straw into gold?) makes him one of the most useful of all.

There is movement at the front of the hall, and then the great doors open and with it comes a great breeze, cold as winter – a fitting entry for the northerners.   A man strides in, followed by a young girl maybe Killian’s age.  Her hair is braided back, and her eyes are wary as she takes in the large room.  She distinctly lacks a beard.   Her father has one, but not the long flowing one that the men in Oldtown swore by.  This one resembles Liam’s in that it’s cut close and tidy.  When he looks at Killian, he has kind eyes.

Killian likes the new Hand already.

“Your Grace,” Lord Stark says, bowing before the king.  He presses a kiss to Victerys’ hand, and then smiles as he presses a kiss to Ruby’s as well.  “May I present my daughter, Lady Emma of House Stark.”

Emma Stark’s curtsey is flawless – she has evidently been well trained in Winterfell.  She is pleasant and polite, and Killian tries to remember who her mother (there are many other things he’d rather do than study the lineages of Westeros, much to Granny’s dismay).   She must be a very high-born lady for the Starks are the North in more ways than one, and the heir to Winterfell would not marry below his station.

“This is my nephew, Lord Killian of House Tyrell,” Victerys says suddenly, and Killian snaps out of hastily trying to remember family trees to step forward. He bows before Lord Stark, and takes young Lady Emma’s hand. 

“A pleasure, m’lady,” he says, and then rakishly decides to brush a kiss over her knuckles if only for the reward in way that her eyes widen at the behavior.  The poor girl looks panic-stricken, then offended, as he steps back, and Killian wonders if perhaps his reputation has made it to the North.

Ruby will be angry later if that is indeed the case.

There is small talk, which Killian does not pay attention to.  Instead, he studies the Hand’s daughter and watches as her eyes take in everything with equal parts awe and fear.   It is her first time in the capital, and he can hardly blame her.  This place is both perverse and delightful, yet he doesn’t think the Starks are much for the same kind of delights as the majority of the population here.   Eventually, Victerys leads Lord Stark and his party to their new home in the Tower of the Hand.  As the audience ends, Ruby reaches out for him, grabbing his wrist and drawing him towards her.

“You must be kind to Lady Emma,” she tells him.  “I knew her mother when I was a girl and she was very kind to me.  I would have you treat her daughter with the same courtesy.”

“Who was her mother?” Killian asks as they leave the throneroom. 

“Lady Snow, of Riverrun,” Ruby says.  Killian laughs.

“How fitting that she married into House Stark, then,” he remarks.  Ruby pulls him closer. 

“She married for love, much as I did with Victerys.  I hope that one day you will be afforded the same privilege,” she says, “but you shan’t if you keep up this roguish behavior.  Be kind to the poor girl – she has not met someone like you before.”

“There are no men like me,” he teases his sister, but that much is true.  Killian knows that all of Kings Landing has speculated about his arrival in the capital, and that his story precedes him.   Youngest son of an upjumped house, the Tyrells owe all of their allegiance to the Targaryens and Killian would defend Victerys to his dying breath, for he is a just king (with horrible councilors).  But there is much in his past that shames him, and Winterfell is not Dorne: he cannot tarnish Lady Emma’s name by mere association.  He will have to be courteous and polite with the eldest child of the Hand, and keep her at a distance.

Pity, too – her naiveté might have been fun.

“When did you meet Lady Stark?” Killian asks, and Ruby smiles.  

“At a tourney here in the city – I was but ten, she a few years older, and Liam was teasing me about my dress.  She made him stop and he has pledged his enduring love to her ever since.  He was a wreck when she married Lord Stark.” 

Ruby stops and presses a kiss on the crown of his head.  “Be kind to her as her mother was to me.  That is all that I ask.”

Killian nods.  “Anything for you.”

Ruby smiles.  “I thought so.  Now head down to the dock and fetch your brother, and make sure that both of you are respectable at supper.”

As he runs to the dock, he thinks only about Liam’s arrival, and lets the politics and infighting of the keep fly in the wind.  Though he has been trained since a young age in politics, Killian has eschewed much of his training in lieu of more important things like fun and adventure and yet, he can still play the game just as well as Ruby, who is far better than Victerys.   If the Starks are bred for winter, the Tullys for duty and honor, then the Tyrells are meant to grow strong in any condition.

And Liam has certainly grown strong in the royal fleet.  Though he serves as Master of Ships, he spends more time on them than in the small council (Ruby speaks on his behalf – a perfect political move that Granny is quite proud of).   Just as Killian arrives, he sees the form of his brother on the deck above, and he practically vaults up the plank to greet him.

“Does our sister know you’re here?” Liam asks in greeting before looking Killian up and down.  “She must – you’re actually presentable for once.”

Killian ducks his head, slightly embarrassed.  “The new Hand of the King has arrived – Lord Stark from Winterfell.  He brought his daughter with him.”

Liam gives an order to his crew before placing his arm around Killian’s shoulder and steering him off deck.  “A comely girl?”

Killian thinks. Emma Stark is fair – he has not seen many girls of her coloring in the capital, so pale with such fierce green eyes.  “Fair enough, but Ruby says I am to treat her with respect because her mother is Lady Snow Tully.”

Liam sighs.  “Lady Tully…was there ever such a beauty?  Too bad she was far too old for me.  Did Ruby tell you how I mourned when she married Lord Stark?”

“She did.”

Liam laughs as they walk away from the dock and towards the castle.  “I shan’t hold it against the man.  You will come to my quarters and tell me your opinion of the new Hand?”

“Ruby says we must ready for supper,”  Killian tells him as they walk.  “There will be a tourney, won’t there Liam? For the Hand?”

Killian has been thinking about this tourney since the first one he attended two years ago, with a different Hand.   He is now sixteen, old enough to participate, and he has longed for the lists since Liam’s first tourney.   Just this past name day, Victerys had given him a new horse that should be fast enough to allow him to win it.

Liam nods.  “I suppose so – Victerys does love his tourneys.  Do you think you will compete this year?”

“I hope to,” Killian tells him.  “Granny will want me knighted sooner or later.  I supposed I could join the Kingsguard, or perhaps the Queensguard.”

“Ruby would like that too much,” Liam teases.  “Perhaps you will gain fame and fortune in your victory.  Use it for something else, if that is the case.  You’re know you’re always welcome at sea with me.”

These words are music to his ears, for he’s longed to go to sea with Liam. “Perhaps after the tourney?” he asks.

Liam smiles.  “Perhaps. And as long as you are kind to the young Lady Stark.”

Killian sighs and rolls his eyes.  He has done nothing untoward – why does everyone think the worst of him?

He knows the answer, and that is because of everything he has already done that has him here, in the capital, under the watchful eye of his family and not in the Reach.   But he promised Ruby he would do better, and he would do anything for love of his family.

As he and Liam approach the castle, and the topic turns towards Liam’s most recent voyage, thoughts of tourneys and Lady Emma drift from his mind, and all he can think about is the perfect blue of the Summer Sea, and the sound of waves crashing alongside a ship’s hull.  Perhaps he _could_ go to sea.


End file.
